Brotherhood of the Crimson Moon
by Miki-Death-Strike
Summary: Under Timber's revolt of the Galbadian government, only a small league of warriors can rise and negate the dicatorship of Vinzer Deling. Amist the war are two boys who yearn to become great warriors under the influence of the mysterious Crimson Moon.


Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII and X in this fic, so there. I said it!

Introduction: Hey, thought this one up because I was reading DragonHeart! I tell ya' one page of that book and it inspired me for life. Think I'll get in contact with the author... Plz, if you know what's good for you, you'll read that book and watch the magic come to life! ... Well, on with the fic. Not sure where it will take me, but let's find out, k?

**Brotherhood of the Crimson Moon**

Chapter I: The Arrow and Rose Petals

They were lost memories that overflowed each thought that came to mind. Like the white dust descending to the cold grass beyond the windowpane, each blank flake only obscured, it did not embellish. Vile recollections of a gone life still lingered, yet he could not recall a name, only a face. A blanched face whose lips were parched and streaked with blood that did not belong to her. Auburn eyes gazed at him and all he could grasp from that image was a dying love for him. He could not put an age to the woman's face, for she had that boundless and youthful beauty. All the boy knew was a dying face. Stained with blood.

As he glared at the delicious dishes before him, distant echoes of another calling for someone rang in his ears, but he paid no attention to the unfamiliar voices. He could only become attentive to the sounds of his stomach as he suffered one last hunger pang before diving into the mouth-watering aromas of dark and oiled meat glazed over warm gravy.

Jaw closing and reopening, breath deep and quick, the boy closed his eyes and relished in the meal that he was depraved from for so long. He couldn't quite remember the last time he ate, but he knew that it hadn't been for very long.

Flames seemed to lick up the vermillion wine that had been spilled into the hearth. As it crackled and slowly began to turn the timber to ash, the warmth grew a bit stronger, then it seemed to fade only to become stronger again, sending waves of tranquility.

"Yes, please eat. You will need your strength, my boy." A woman stood adjacent from the starved young lad, her ebony hair seeming endless as it flooded her back. The boy saw the orange and red flames of the fire reflect into her eyes when the woman turned his way. Glancing back to his food, the boy began to drink. "Very peculiar. . . . Where did you come from?" Her voice was gentle, yet familiar. But he could not place the face that haunted his dreams and etched its way into his memory with her voice. They seemed to reject each other.

The boy was still silent as he ate and the woman did not push him to answer any of her questions. Sitting with him, the woman placed her delicate hands onto the wooden table before her and she took a seat in her favorite ashen chair.

"Do you have a name?" she now asked. Almost shyly, the boy discontinued his biting. He swallowed.

". . . Almasy," he whispered. He cleared his throat and repeated his last name a bit more sternly.

"Is that your first name?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing into confusion. It wasn't a common first name, nor a common last name, but she knew of a few people with Almasy as a last name. The boy shook his blonde head.

"Almasy is my last name. I . . . don't know my first," he explained. He placed his silver fork onto the platter before him, staring at the half-eaten plate.

"You don't remember?" the woman asked, her dark eyes watching the blonde intently. The boy once again shook his head. "Well now. It's not everyday that I find a very young lad like yourself wandering these icy plains." A pale hand brushed the raven forelocks that slightly hindered her eyesight. "Not to fear, my dear. I will take care of you until you regain that memory of yours. . . . Now eat up, you will need your rest."

She was a slender and tall woman. Dainty one might describe her, so delicate and fragile. The boy watched as she warmed her hands by the fire. She was staring at the glass atop the fireplace that had once been filled with red wine. He wondered what it was she was thinking of.

He knew it confused her to see a boy that had wandered to her home with not even a coat to keep him warm from the torrent of the cold weather. He had only a sable case securely strapped to his back, a thick wool bound to his body, and a metal neckband attached to his frozen fingers, nothing more.

The woman had immediately wrapped him into a dry quilt and saw that he was near death. It would be two days until he awakened and filled his empty stomach. And now, he supposed, it was time for the woman to understand everything about him. Maybe she realized that no one was coming for him.

"My husband will be arriving shortly, dear. I'll have to explain you to him." She turned her back to the fire and faced him. "He will be delighted. We don't receive a lot of company, you know." Seeing that the boy had pushed away the dish, the woman made her way toward him.

"The necklace . . . it. . . ." Matron halted her movements to put his dishes into the sink. "I don't know who gave it to me . . . but I'm supposed to keep it." She smiled and took the dishes.

"Of course. It is in your bedroom on the drawer and so is your case. Don't worry, I did not go through anything." Her grin was reassuring. The woman walked into her kitchen and from what he heard, she was washing the dishes.

Outside, the heavens were swallowed in ribbons of grey and the light of the wintry white sun, like a moon risen into the daylight. The clouds seemed to move against the icy sun toward some other distant land, creating a shadow.

The steely blade created a glint when the cold sunlight reflected upon it, and he wasn't sure if the flicker of scarlet was the blood that had dried from the previous battles or just his imagining. Placing the sword back into its scaffold, the warrior grasped the reins of his horse and eyed the aged man beside him.

"There will surely be another rebellion. Let us be glad that we arrived in time." the youthful warrior spoke. They took another break above the hill that sloped down to the cottage in which they lived. It was well hidden within the dormant groves and even as they were perched high enough to see an entire city, nothing but woods could be sighted.

"The casualties were great in number, perhaps even greater than the army. . . ." the old male said. He drew his hooded cloak closer. "An hour must pass before we can revisit the interior of the city. Let us fill our stomachs until then."

Their brown horses delved into the soil below, running toward the cottage hidden within the groves.

"A rebellion was it?" Edea placed two dishes for each warrior before the men, her scent of the juniper leaves that grew deep within the woods. She passed by her old husband to the younger man beside him.

"The King has ordered our imprisonment as usual. That was the cause of the uprising." Edea's husband answered. She nodded her head, almost expecting the answer. The woman took a seat across from the two and sipped her own cup of herbal tea.

"Will he ever stop?" she asked. Both of the men looked at her plainly. The more youthful one took a sip of his tea, and her husband explained.

"Of course not. If not us, who else will stand in his way?" Her husband took a bite of the chunks of bird meat.

"The army." she answered.

"They are dwindling quickly. Timber will surely fall without us." the husband admitted. "We need to find apprentices." he said, facing the man beside him who only nodded. "The war will rage unless we surrender. And I will only do that when I have a faithful apprentice well under my wing." Edea sighed at her husband's response.

"Even at the cost of your life?" she subtly queried. He ignored the question and continued to eat. The heavy silence ended when an unfamiliar blonde lad came slowly walking from the bed chambers. The warriors raised their heads at the slight sound the boy's footsteps made. "Oh . . ." Edea whispered. She rose from her chair and attended to the boy.

"I can't find it." he said as she knelt down to him. Her brown eyes glanced at the men behind her. She then took the boy in her arms and carried him from the door.

"Aha! Edea, dear. You've found another!" her husband exclaimed. He rose from the table, his armor and weapons clanking. Edea recoiled a bit. "Now, I have no need to travel back to the city."

"No, Cid," she said. "He will not be used. The boy barely remembers his own name." The blonde watched as the old man examined him.

"Hm, a bit on the scrawny side." he said, feeling the apparent bones inside his arms.

"Listen to me. I will not have it! I will not have you raise children to follow you into death!" she yelled. Cid placed his calloused gloved hands onto his wife's shoulder.

"Death. It is where all of us must go. Who will fight for the people of Timber? When will we finally be able to visit the city without hiding our identities? The time is now! We must do something!" Cid argued. "I can feel the freedom on the frigid air."

She always submitted to her husband whenever he made his speeches. The idea of becoming liberated always quelled her hunger, and she knew that under the guidance of Cid, the boy she held in her arms was surely to have a future. _But a future of what, _she pondered. _Will this envisionment that Cid sees be torn to shreds?_

The morning seemed to come him with fierceness, seeping through his eyelids before he gasped for breath and jerked up from his cot. The wooden walls of his diminutive room were painted golden, and his window seemed to emanate warmth. He heard the distant grunts and moans just outside of the window followed by the clanking of metal. It reminded him of the nightmare he had just witnessed.

It was the woman again. She had been crying for him, but he was imprisoned by flame. As her face began to grow distant, other strange images appeared. Images of gushing snow, then the cottage, and then Edea's voice echoed from the woman's as she reached out her bloody hand and yelled for him to come to her. But all he could do was run away from the flame because he knew that the voice he heard did not belong to that beautiful face.

The ashen door opened, and Edea came forth with a wooden mug of water and a damp cloth. She placed the container onto the side table and sat on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling, dear?" she asked, wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead. He wondered if she knew that he was dreaming of the blood and flame and that face again.

"Thirsty," he said. Edea chuckled and handed him the mug.

"Do you have any strength?" she asked. Today marked the fourth day since he had come to her, and already, he seemed to be recovering from his exhaustion. The beautiful woman turned her dark eyes to the window. "The sun is out, I see. Seems like the Gods have mercy on us after all." Seifer handed the empty mug back to Edea. He joined her in watching the warm sun. "It was just yesterday that the snow had fallen. Now it is sunny and a bit warmer."

"Are there battles outside?" the boy questioned. Edea shook her head, a grin spreading about her face. She continued to wipe the boy's face although the sweat was long gone.

"No, no. Just training. . . . Do you know your age?" Edea asked. The boy was silent only for a second.

"Six." he said and the woman seemed delighted.

"So you're starting to remember!"

"I don't know my name, though. My birthday is soon. . . ." Edea nodded. She lifted herself from his bed, taking the mug with her.

"Come to the kitchen when you are ready. Breakfast will be served shortly."

"Wait!" the boy said. He took the covers from him and found that he was dressed with a ragged shirt that went well with his ragged pants. Still no shoes.

"Yes," Edea said, hanging between the doorway.

"Where am I?"

"Oh . . . You're in the woods of Timber."

When the boy finally made it to the kitchen area adjacent the bedroom chambers, his bowl of oats had already been prepared. The steam protruded from the cereal as he sat before it. Taking a bite, Almasy watched outside of the opened door and saw quick shadows move back and forth. Edea was washing dishes again in another room, so he was alone.

"I'll bring your footwear in shortly. Just don't go anywhere, alright?" Edea said from the other room. But it was already too late. Almasy had been curious about the shadows moving from outside and he went to examine it.

More metal clanked as red and black shadows seemed to move toward the sky, then back down to earth. A boy, no older than Almasy, was caught in the middle of the moving silhouette, but he seemed to be expecting something. A weapon to his right, the boy lifted it with both hands and bent his knees a bit.

The melting snow upon the huge meadow crunched each time the shadows came down, then they suddenly stopped. One landing behind the boy, and the other in front. Almasy recognized the men from yesterday when they had entered the cottage and an aura of coldness seemed to hover around them. Their cloaks had been removed and only armor showed now.

"Now, boy. Your mind is the only thing that will help you. Have control over it, and victory will prevail." the old warrior was saying. The boy with the peculiar weapon nodded and tightened his grip on the heavy blade. Almasy was amazed by how he could wield it with ease.

The warriors charged with their own blades beared. First the youthful one, having a thick and curved blade from behind, then the old warrior having a thin and sleek blade from the front. Almasy could barely see the clash as the warriors seemed to smash into each other.

But before he could even determine the outcome of the small boy, Almasy saw a shadow emerge from the clash and dust. It was much smaller than the ones he saw before. Then a gleam of silver flashed. It was the boy! He had dodged the charging men and now, he was diving downward, blade first. It was with such speed and grace.

Cid had already jumped to counter the boy's downward fall. Their weapons clanked and Cid fell back. The boy fumbled to the ground, kicking up the dirt. The other warrior who had only charged and waited, watched as the small boy rose from the snow.

"I charged upward, but you hit." Cid said to the boy. He twisted the hilt of his blade and moved toward him. "Why?"

". . . ." The boy was silent. He wiped the sweat from his face.

"Your target should have been Auron. Not me," Cid went on. "I only charged for you to create a diversion. You wouldn't have fumbled if you just dodged and continued down toward Auron. Then you could have dealt with me upon landing." After explaining, Cid glanced over at Almasy who watched with his mouth unconsciously opened. He began making his way toward him, still explaining to the other boy. "This method is the Arrow and Rose Petals. You are the arrow targeting a single rose petal. There will be many petals swirling around you, but you are only after a specific one. There will be times when the rose petals look the same, but you will learn to distinguish them from one another."

Auron lifted his thick blade and charged. The boy remembered to keep his mind controlled at all times and he charged as well.

"What's the matter, boy?" Cid asked Almasy. He sheathed his weapon.

Watching the battle had provoked another memory inside of Almasy. A memory of the face from his dreams. He saw swords and soldiers that resembled the rose petals. There were so many of them, swarming and burning the village. In the midst of them all was himself, but instead of fighting he had ran like the face told him to. Tears began to spring from his emerald eyes. He then raised his water-filled eyes, anger present within them.

"I want to be like an arrow," he answered through sobs. "So I can fight the rose petals."


End file.
